Page 35 of Connor

“Ahhh, the people. Usually, the hardest part of running a business is managing the people,” I tell her as I look around her space. It’s just how we prepared it for her. Apart from the addition of a crystal on her desk, which is sitting next to a steamy pot of tea and cups on a tray that she obviously just put together. There are a few boxes at the side of the room, full of more crystals, and I also see some tea and herbs nearby.

“Hmm, well, I could just insult them like you do, but that seems counterproductive.” Eyes gleaming, a smirk is back on her face. I look at her, realizing that, regardless of what facial expression she has for me, I’m getting an appetite for all of them.

“I got you here, didn’t I?” I say, smirking right back, and she relaxes into her seat, watching me. Our power play excites me. I pull, she pushes, then she pulls, and I push. It’s almost like a dance.

“I’ve called a few people. Some experts I floated the visitation schedule to. Some were interested.”

“Good. Sounds positive.”

“I’ve also found a few people in Williamstown who could be suitable for more permanent positions, but it just doesn't all work together. The therapists I spoke to would all love to work here at the new spa, excited by the opportunity, actually, but if we were to have a rotating visitation schedule of experts, then this would eat into their hours, due to the number of rooms we have, meaning that we couldn’t employ them full-time, and those full-time, permanent hours are really what they’re looking for.” As she bites her bottom lip in thought, my gaze latches on it.

“It’s common around here. Local people want that security. There aren’t a lot of new job opportunities in small towns, so they would be hesitant to leave a secure job for something new if they couldn’t be guaranteed the same assurance of long-term employment,” I tell her. It’s probably one of the downsides to small-town living.

“I mean, can you see any way around this?” she asks.

“What if we supplemented their hours elsewhere?” I offer, thinking on the fly. Her body language changes a little as she sits forward, more interested.

“How so?” she asks, clearly intrigued.

“Well, we would have to brainstorm with Dad, but we’re expanding into accommodation, so maybe they can supplement their hours by working in that division? Whether it’s cleaning, concierge…” I suggest, liking this idea.

“In-room treatments…” she says, and our eyes connect. The excitement of coming up with new plans is clearly something we both experience.

“In-room treatments… I like that,” I murmur, brushing my beard. As I do, I notice her eyes flick to the movement before she quickly looks back at me.

“It’s probably a good strategy for the distillery overall.”

“What are you thinking?” I ask her. Watching her brain work is one of the sexiest things I’ve ever witnessed.

“That Whitemans could have a team of staff that are trained to be cross functional. Therapists can learn reception; they can learn cleaning and the restaurant. Also, your waiters can learn accommodation bookings, can be trained about wellness for the retail and reception of the spa…” she trails off, and I can’t help the large grin pulling at my lips. This kind of thinking is well outside her responsibility of the wellness spa as it encompasses a whole business approach, but I love it.

“By cross-training staff, when times are slower, then we move them into the areas of the business that have demand. If people are sick, need time off or go on vacation, they’re then covered almost immediately.” Sitting forward in my seat, my body’s now almost humming. I have more energy in this moment than I’ve had all day.

“It’s a great risk management tool. The only consideration will be costs of training and remuneration, because they could demand a higher salary and hourly rate due to increased skill set, but—”

“But… then you can really offer your staff opportunities for not just a job, but a solid career, give them the chance to discover and learn new skills. Who knows, maybe your receptionist would be an amazing therapist, or maybe your head waiter has always dreamed of being a gardener?” she says, smiling, and I like the fact that, not only can she talk business, but she also connects the human element. Doing good for my people, not just my bottom line. That kind of thinking is what makes a business a great place to work. I sit back in the armchair, the two of us watching each other carefully, the room now charged with clear admiration.

“Here,” she says as she grabs the pot of tea on her desk and pours me a cup. I don’t even hesitate, leaning in and grabbing it from her and bringing the steamy cup to my nose. It’s yellow and looks more like what goes into the toilet bowl than what should be going into my body. But it smells like dried flowers.

“What is it?” I ask, wondering if, like her mother, the tea that she’s given me is going to taste like shit. Regardless, I bring it to my lips and sip. It tastes just as it smells. Not totally repugnant, but not tasty either.

“It’s chrysanthemum tea,” she says, sitting back, sipping her own cup of the steaming brew.

“What’s it going to do to me?” I ask her as I look at her from over the rim of the cup, knowing this is some kind of elixir of hers.

“It’s my special truth elixir. After you drink this, I can ask you anything, and you won’t lie.”

Just as I swallow, I almost choke, and she laughs, a sound I wasn’t ready for. Her giggle penetrates my body in a way I can’t even begin to describe. I’m coughing up a lung, yet laughing at the same time, my heart pulsing at a rate it hasn’t before.

“Kidding.Obviously,” she says, wiping tears of joy from her eyes that she experiences from my pain and suffering. I take a deep breath, glad she’s joking, because she doesn’t want to know the truth about what I’m thinking about. The dirty thoughts I’ve been having about her are hard enough to contain as it is.

“It’ll actually help relieve stress, cools the body down, helps with high blood pressure, and will keep you focused so the words or numbers won’t be as blurry,” she says, and I take another sip.

“Thank you. It’s not great, but it isn’t completely terrible,” I tell her with a smirk.

“This doesn’t mean you’re forgiven for being an ass when we first met, or that we are, in any way, considered friends,” she says cheekily, those blue eyes locked on mine.

“Potato, potahto,” I quip, and her smile is instant and wide.

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